Death's Devotion
by spiffydorksarah
Summary: Undertaker has always been known to have a mysterious past with the Phantomhives. Just what connections does he have?
1. Chapter 1

_(A/N: This is completely based off a headcanon I have about the Undertaker's relationship with Claudia Phantomhive. I try to keep it based off canon facts as much as I can, but considering we do not know much about Claudia or the Undertaker's past at this point besides the locket with her name, most is just theory (this being published right after Chapter 94). It will be going back and forth between flashbacks and the present (as in, the time this first chapter takes place in). So keeping that in an open mind, please enjoy the story!)_

* * *

**Chapter One: Musings**

The door swung open rather abruptly, ringing the bell to alert the Undertaker that somebody had entered the room. Sometimes it was more than one person, and whether or not both guests were aware of the noise was a different story. Half of the people to come in the gloomy place were not alive to begin with, so a bell would be rather meaningless to them. Everything material was meaningless to the deceased. The fact that humans would spend so much time and effort over items that would be lost in the end was quite amusing to the Undertaker.

"Oh, this is quite the sight to behold," the pale man cooed, stringing his bony fingers together and he looked up from his desk. His eyes were covered by shaggy grey bangs, and it was impossible to determine the exact point that his gaze fell. "I knew you'd be coming back soon, of course. It comes with your position. This being so, I welcome you into my my little paradise of the dead." The director chuckled and gave a large grin.

Vincent Phantomhive strode into the parlor with confidence. Tall, slim, refined, and undeniably aesthetically pleasing, it was hard _not_ to like Vincent. Unlike his fatherly predecessors, he kept his cool composure in almost any situation. It could be difficult to tell whether or not he was for or against you. This fascinated the Undertaker, but unlike most, he could usually read the young earl's emotions with ease. So it was obvious to tell that Phantomhive was unaffected by the dismal array of decor in the morgue (it wasn't any more dismal than anything else he had seen at this point). It was ridiculous that so many people seemed scared to enter the place. As if the dead would be a threat to living! They would only hurt you mentally if you let them.

Humans were so enthralling.

Vincent smiled charmingly back at the mortician. He held a journal in one hand and a pen in the other. He tapped the pen against the binding casually, feeling right at home. With the amount of times he had been in the place, it practically was his second one. "And I thank you for your kind hospitality. You've been in loyal service to my family for as long as I can remember."

Undertaker made a clicking sound with his tongue at the amiable man. "My Lord Phantomhive, you make me sound _so _old." There was a beat of silence before the previous death god burst out laughing. "I'm just kidding, of course! I _am_ old, and I shan't deny that. I've still got plenty of life in me, though, unlike most of my pretties gathered here." He held out his skinny arm, motioning towards the coffins piled about. "Age is such an interesting thing, isn't it? The older we get, the wiser we get. That is, until we get so old that we do not remember. If one is lucky, they'll live long enough to have almost gone a full circle. From a wee baby that knows nothing, to an elderly gentleman that forgets all. It's rather peaceful, though, not being concerned with anything. Rather, not living, but just _being_...Do you understand what I'm saying, Earl?"

Vincent Phantomhive tilted his head in sincere thought, and gave an amused smile. "I suppose it does. Death is just a part of life, after all."

Undertaker studied him for a moment. "Indeed, it is."

"I'm sure you have an idea as to why I'm here," Vincent changed the subject, flipping open his little journal. Quite the pleasant companion, but also so serious when he came to his work. Perhaps that ran on his one side of the family.

"Duty calls., My Lord."

Vincent explained the situation. "The queen sent me to find out whatever information you have on a girl named Olivia Price. She was reportedly kidnapped a few months ago by a cult, but we've heard nothing since. Her Majesty suspects that she was murdered not too long ago, yet we have no solid proof. If she was killed, you'd be the first to know besides the murderer himself."

"Olivia Price," Undertaker repeated, thoughtfully. He sighed and reached below his desk, pulling out a bowl of none other than dog treats. Nonchalantly, he nibbled on the end of one then swung it out towards Vincent. "I should think you should like to try one, My Lord," Undertaker joked, a smirk forming at his lips. "Being the faithful Watchdog you are."

Vincent chucked. "Surprisingly enough, I think I'll pass. But thank you."

"You'll do anything for your master, won't you?" Undertaker took another bite before getting back to the purpose of the encounter. "Olivia Price, you say? Yes, I believe I do know some about her. You know what my price is for information, though."

Vincent chuckled. "It's hard to forget such a thing. My father always struggled with it."

Undertaker grinned. "He never understood the full value of a laugh."

* * *

Of course, the Earl Phantomhive managed to tell an uproarious joke, causing the mortician's sides to hurt from laughing so hard. Therefore, without further ado, he handed the man a folder containing information on the Olivia Price girl. There was nothing particularly special about it. Just another girl kidnapped and killed by an anti-monarchist group. There were quite a few of these rebels in the criminal underworld, some more eccentric than others. Undertaker generally was not one to judge based off unconventionality, but he was not overly fond of certain specific groups. He wouldn't admit his animosity either way, however, unless maybe if he was outright asked with reason (and boy, would that require some high payments in laughter).

Vincent looked over the papers quietly a moment, and Undertaker watched intently as he did. The serious expression on his face, with his eyes slightly squinted and his head tilted to the side. The manner that he held himself upright, looking as if he owned the entire Empire himself-and not just the toy one. Occasionally he would unintentionally chew his lower lip when he was in deep thought. He would clear his throat and then turn the page to continue reading. All of these traits he shared with his mother.

"Can I see the body, please?" Vincent finally asked, looking up.

Undertaker nodded. "Just follow me, my Lord." He stood up and motioned for the earl to come with him to the back room, which contained the prominent stench of dead people, despite whatever concoctions were used to hide it. He stopped in front of a tiny, black coffin in the corner of the room, built with the cheapest, almost rotting woods. "Her funeral is tomorrow at St. Mark's, that small church a few blocks down. I don't predict many people will go, though." He opened the tiny casket to reveal a young girl, no older than ten. She wore a simple black dress and her blonde hair was laying flat and plain. She didn't stand out as anything special. Just like her death.

Vincent had seen his fair share of death. He was only a young teenager when his mother died, and it was only few years after when his father passed, too. Now, in his early twenties, he had taken the Watchdog position, and had seen plenty of deaths in the process. Death was not something that phased the earl. Undertaker remembered how he was when both of his parents died. Of course he had been upset-more so over his mother's passing than his father's. It wasn't like he wanted or enjoyed seeing people dead, and he truly cared about those he loved. That man had a stronger sense of justice and philanthropy than the average man of nobility, or really any person. It was the concept of death itself that didn't scare him. Bodies were not haunting to Phantomhive. People died no matter what, and he had personally killed some in his line of work, surely. What especially stood out to the Undertaker is how, while observing the body, Vincent seemed almost _intrigued_. Undertaker could relate to that.

"I think I've seen everything need," Vincent announced after a few intense minutes. Undertaker proceeded to close the coffin back up, and the two walked back out to the front. "Thank you for your services, as always." Vincent pocketed his journal and pen, already planning his next move.

"I do whatever I can," Undertaker replied, sitting back down behind his desk."You're certainly easier to help than your father."

Vincent gave a deep sigh. "He was a complicated man, for sure...Well, I thank you again. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon. Have a good night, Undertaker."

Undertaker nodded. "I have no doubt in my mind that we'll speak in the near future. Have a good night too, Young Lord." Vincent left the parlor, but the mortician stayed seated a moment, dwelling on all that had just happened.

"Your father, the complicated man, eh? That he was, Vincent. Whoever he may be…"


	2. Chapter 2

_(A/N: Thank you everyone for your kind reviews! It's always nice to get feedback. I plan to be updating this story about once a month, but of course with school and work, I can't promise that it will always be consistent. I will try my hardest, though! Also, I would just like to add that any religious and/or political views mentioned are from the character's points of view at the time and do not necessarily reflect what I believe. There's not much concerning that in this chapter, but I'd like to establish it for any future occurrences. Just in case, haha. So keeping all of that in mind, please enjoy!)_

_(Edit: I have been informed that it was mentioned once briefly in the manga-at least in certain translations-that Frances is the *younger* sister of Vincent, although in this fic she's not. Age isn't going to be overly important to the plot, so whatever you believe, I do hope that won't be a problem~)_

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**Chapter 2: The Wife of the Watchdog**

_April 1852_

_25 Years Prior _

The little Frances Phantomhive laid restlessly in her crib, halfheartedly tossing around her doll, and eventually throwing it over the side. Her mother, Claudia, who was still getting used to the whole "maternal" role, glanced up from her book when she heard her daughter's cries. Pierre, the Phantomhive French Bulldog, began to moan and made his way over to the crib, trying to figure out for himself what the odd noises from the little one were. Claudia saw the doll laying on the floor and shook her head. This happened almost every day! Wouldn't it eventually click that if you threw the doll that far over, it wouldn't stay in the crib?

She was broken from her thoughts when Pierre began to bark. She looked up and saw that Frances was attempting to climb up the bars to retrieve the doll herself! Perhaps Claudia at twenty-two wasn't an expert, but all it took was common sense to know that was dangerous.

"Oh, no you don't! I've got it for you!" Claudia said, and sprung up from her rocking chair to grab the doll. She handed it back to her daughter and smiled, running a hand through the girl's golden curls. "Such an independent girl, aren't you? You better be careful, or you'll get yourself hurt." Perhaps that was the perfect sign to start getting her ready for the regular bed.

Frances grinned back, now that she had the toy. "Thank you, Mummy," she said, though it came out as "_Tank_ you". The toddler probably had no idea what her mother had just said, but at least she was polite at such a young age.

However, at almost two, Frances was quite the bright girl. Besides knowing basic words and phrases, she was able to form simple sentences with ease, and occasionally even something more complicated-if she _really_ desired. Goodness, was that little free spirit a handful, though! Frances had a mind and will of her own, which Claudia could appreciate, but it made it hard for the disciplinary side of things.

The grandfather clock against the wall chimed, signaling that it was seven o'clock.

"Frances, I think it's dinner time," Claudia said. Frances understood the word "dinner" and her face lit up. Claudia patted down her simple navy dress and readjusted her chemisette before picking up and carrying her daughter downstairs to the main dining hall. It was easily one of most decorated areas in the manor, being that it was the main room for entertaining guests. Besides the elaborate table set in the center of the room (underneath the frankly, _gaudy_ chandelier), the room was garnished with various rugs and curtains from some far off land-China, was it? Claudia could barely remember. Half of the decor was imported from somewhere other than England, it seemed. There was also a large fireplace to the left as one walked in, with a mantelpiece displaying vases, photos, and figurines. Above it was a mirror, reflecting the other side of the wall full of paintings of the Earl's predecessors as well as various outdoor scenes. In the back corner was another door, leading to the kitchen, where no doubt the staff were working to finish cooking dinner.

Claudia put Frances down once they'd entered the room, and the girl squealed with delight. "Daddy!" she exclaimed, and hobbled over to the other end of the table where her stoic father was seated, reading the newspaper. She latched onto his leg and grinned up at him, but he didn't return the favor in the slightest.

"Claudia," the Earl warned. That was all he needed-his tone of voice said the rest. Claudia plied Frances off of her father and sat her down a few chairs away. Frances hated sitting at the table to eat, and was still a little young to be expected, but the Earl insisted that she learn her manners as soon as possible-or perhaps sooner.

One of the maids, Abigail, came into the dining room, carrying an assortment of plates: turkey, peas, carrots, potatoes, and more. She set them down evenly between the Earl and where the two females sat without a word ("There's no reason to waste your breath on the obvious," the Earl had always said) and left the room just as quietly as she entered. The only sound for what must have been ten minutes was Frances playing with her food and Claudia gently reprimanding her.

"She won't ever learn if you remain so lenient," Lord Phantomhive scoffed, speaking for the first time during the entire meal. He gazed disapprovingly upon the girl.

"She's barely two; I wouldn't expect her to be as mannerly as you," Claudia muttered, keeping her attention directed towards Frances as she tried to spoon some peas into the girl's mouth.

The Earl slammed his fist against the table. "Damn it, Claudia, we've been over this! Make eye contact and enunciate while you're speaking!" In response, Claudia didn't speak at all. Frances looked up hesitantly at first her father and then her mother, but didn't say anything, either.

A long time passed. Frances had finished her food while her parents had not yet, so she almost threw a fit out of boredom. Luckily, Abigail had come in to take away some dirty plates and sensed the child's restlessness. The young and timid maid escorted the toddler back to her room to get her ready for bed, leaving husband and wife alone at the table. Another few long minutes passed before the Lord spoke again. Claudia partially wished she was the child.

"Tomorrow I'm going to be out all day," he said. That was it, but Claudia knew what he meant. Watchdog duties, no doubt. He never told her anything about it, which only made her more curious. Of course, Claudia knew the basics behind it. It was half the reason they got married.

The Watchdog position was created as soon as Queen Victoria took the throne in 1837. The present Earl's father originally had the position, being that the Phantomhive line had been quite loyal and competent enough for that sort of dangerous title for a long time. In fact, it was no secret that the Phantomhives helped the Queen with her dirty work. Yet exactly what and how they did was generally unbeknownst except to a few select people. Either way, they were a respectable family worthy enough to be engaged to Claudia's own noble status. Everything was arranged by the parents of the two, and they had hardly met before their wedding day.

"Where will you be?" Claudia asked, for the sake of conversation. She made herself look at the Earl. Was that some premature balding?

The Earl sighed and rubbed his temples. "The Queen requested me to search for some information concerning a case, so does it really matter to _you_ where I'll be? It's not for a woman to be involved in. Besides, use what of a brain you have, Claudia. Where do you _think_ I'd go to look into a case?"

"The Yard, I suppose," Claudia said. _But what do I know?_

"Obviously. My God, woman."

Claudia gave a nod, and took a sip of her drink. "I'll be here, in that case, awaiting for your return."

* * *

The office of the Earl was a place Claudia was banned from entering. The rule had never been officially said- excluding the time the Earl had blurt it out during one those drunken fits of rage concerning the need for extreme privacy-but typically, most things were never verbally established around Phantomhive manor. What the Lord desired always happened, whether it be completing a quest given Queen Victoria or keeping his wife in line.

Today, however, the Earl was not around to be a Watchdog over her. Frances was taking a nap and the maids were all busy cleaning. Claudia was somewhat unsettled, for whatever reason decided by fate, and she paced the manor with Pierre tagging along closely behind her.

"Well, I'm just not sure what I should be doing right now," Claudia spoke aloud, presumably for Pierre. "I know I should write Madam Burgess soon, but I'm all out of ink. Can you believe that? With all the procrastinating I do on letter correspondence?" Pierre sat down and wagged his tail. She watched him and crossed her arms. "At least you pretend to know what I'm talking about," the woman muttered. Her eyes wandered down the hall and stopped at the doorway to her husband's office. "I suppose there would be some ink in there, don't you think?" Silence. "Perhaps I could go in really quickly, just to find what I need. I'd put it back before his return. That man would never know." She stood rooted to her spot a moment, playing with a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun, debating the motives and consequences of her possible actions.

"Either I write and get yelled at, or don't write and get yelled at. Perhaps I should just take a risk for the first time in quite a while, huh, Pierre?" Claudia decided. She continued her pace down the hall until she reached the office. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and entered the taboo room.

There was nothing too special about it, in all honestly. Some chairs. Some paintings. Some books. Some clutter. Of course, the large, ornate desk in the middle. Claudia trudged towards the desk with Pierre at her feet and her eyes skimmed the top for any ink bottle. Within seconds she found one and grabbed it, but didn't leave the forbidden room just yet. Her eyes had caught something else. Slightly hidden underneath some papers, something golden reflected. Had the Earl forgotten the key to the desk drawers?

Lord Phantomhive always had that key with him, perhaps for his own mental comfort. He kept all his important papers in here, whether it be family finances or information concerning his Watchdog work. Claudia found herself putting down the bottle of ink and reaching for the key. What _exactly_ were in these drawers? This might be her only chance to find out. The Earl wouldn't be back until dark, and it was only early afternoon then. A quick glance wouldn't hurt anyone, as long as she put everything back in place.

Carefully, though there was no reason for the extra caution, she unlocked the top drawer and pulled it out, revealing various folders stuffed with papers. She took out the top one, the most recent, and opened it. On the top there was a letter, and Claudia couldn't hep herself. She began to read it.

_Earl Phantomhive,_

_I hope you and your family had a nice and relaxing Easter. Mine was delightful, being that I spent the day with Albert and the children. We had the best roast lamb! If you are ever in the area, you will have to visit and have some!_

_However, as of late, there are more dire issues at hand. I have recently been informed of a newly formed criminal mob that has been actively terrorising the East End though their victims are not exclusively from there. The Yard has done what they can, but you know how that is. I believe your experience and connections would be quite useful in this situation._

_Unfortunately, what we know about the organisation is far and few in between. The Yard has found out that they go be the name "Vindictus" and have different ceremonial levels within their society, gained through performing certain acts. Men and women are both inducted. The most common crimes are ones such a pick pocketing or selling stolen goods, but that is not why I write to you (though it may be useful to know in order to find them). There are worse offenses, presumably committed by the upper level members, that stand out._

_A series of disappearances have been reported in the past few months, without any evidence on where the people have vanished. Only during the past few weeks have any of the missing persons been found; all of them dead. There appears to be no pattern at all, however, with various ages, classes, and ethnicities attacked in contrasting ways. Perhaps if we can find their haven we can not only captures the leaders and dismantle the mob, but greater understand their reasons for the killings as well. Attached is a list of known victims and where they were found, as well as disappearances suspected to be related to the mob._

_I await your findings._

_Victoria R_

Claudia clicked her tongue a few times and skimmed over the list of names. How brutal! Yet, how intriguing. A sort of cult with a functioning hierarchy working together for the common goal of what? Survival? Burglary and murder on its own would make sense, yet the list debunked that. There was no reason to kill all these different people for the mere purpose of survival itself. The queen had not been exaggerating when she wrote that the disappearances had been from all sorts. Nobility to peasant, girl to old man, East End to West End, they were on the list. It was quite the puzzle.

Yet one name stood out.

"Phillip Melbourne," Claudia said aloud, and repeated the name again. "Phillip Melbourne...Oh, why do I know that name?" She tapped her finger against the desk, racking her brain for any vague memory. Pierre sat quietly, watching. Claudia gasped. "No, it wasn't him I knew, it was his wife. Her name is Helen Melbourne. I met her at a social event a few years ago and we kept in touch until shortly after Frances was born. They were baron and baroness, and owned a large share of the East India Company. I suppose her son takes care of that now, but who knows?" Claudia shrugged and put the paper back in the drawer, locking up the compartment again. She looked at Pierre. "My husband never met them, however. I doubt he even knows who they are. He makes connections with those he finds useful, but doesn't bother to get to know anyone else. Sure, he acts charming then, but afterwards..."

Claudia picked the ink bottle back up, her mind made. She wasn't in the mood to write petty letters. What she really wanted was to talk to Helen, and she was going to write the woman right there at the desk. She just had to hope her husband would never know, being that if he matched the name to the letter, things he would be anything but happy.

Yet, did she really need his permission? She could have easily kept up with Helen, coincidentally. What was so wrong about that? What was the worst that could happen-the Earl banning her from visiting any other friend in person? Sadly, this was fairly accurate, but Claudia pushed that potential conversation out of her mind. He would just never know, then. Secrets were her specialty. The Watchdog position was brutal, but given the opportunity to do something more with her life was just too tempting.

"Well, Pierre," Claudia announced, sitting at the desk and pulling out a piece of paper and envelope (he'd never know if _one_ of each was missing). "I think it's time to catch up with an old acquaintance of mine."

* * *

"I really do appreciate you coming all the way out here, Claudia. It means a lot."

Helen Melbourne sat across from Claudia Phantomhive in the Baron's anteroom shortly after noon. There was a small table in between them, where the butler had put down a tray of tea and biscuits. Helen had gained weight since Claudia had last seen her, and she noticed that the short greying, redhead was eating the food almost therapeutically. Claudia took a sip of her own tea and smiled compassionately.

"Of course, dear. I was so sorry to hear the news. It was quite a shock," she said, taking Helen's hand. "If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."

It had been almost a week since Claudia had snuck in her husband's office. He had been out for more Watchdog work that day, so she figured it would be the perfect opportunity to come visit a friend. She had gotten her butler to bring her over-it was only about an hour's distance by carriage-and had given her deepest sympathies to a wife in full mourning attire. While she did feel bad and knew it was nice to pay Helen a visit, she couldn't help but think of her own personal motives.

"Thank you. It was a shock to us, too. He had been gone for quite awhile, while he was away for business, yet when he didn't come back after the day he said he would, I began to worry. My boys insisted everything would be okay, yet after a few more days I had to report it. A week later, he was found..." Helen said, lowering her voice. She stopped talking to finish her food, seemingly lost in thought, but quickly refocused. "Oh, the funeral for Phillip was truly lovely, by the way. I wish you could have been there. The pastor is so caring. He knew Philip very well, you see. The funeral director, however, was an odd one. He knows what he's doing, though. I think he has been in his profession for a long time. Oh, what was his name...so much has happened, I've had no time to memorize that. I do feel bad. His shop sign just says 'Undertaker'. It's in the city, not too far from here. Oh, dearie me, I'm ranting...how have you been, Claudia? It's been so long!"

The Undertaker? Claudia vaguely knew him, though she was sure it was not mutual. Her husband knew the man, at least in terms of business, and he had been in charge of his parent's funerals as well. Perhaps he would know some more about Melbourne, then! The woman had no other plans that day, as usual, so she truly debated going to see the funeral director and ask for some information. If she found something important, she could anonymously report it to the Yard and be done with it. She would have had her rebellion, and then she could report back to her normal life. With this assured, Claudia spent the next hour chatting away with Helen, discussing lighthearted topics from knitting to reading to children. It was rather enjoyable, once Helen had calmed down a little, and the two stayed clear from anything relating to death.

"You know my eldest, John?" Helen asked. Claudia nodded. "He's twenty-five now. I still can't grasp that. He's still a little baby to me! I think all parents go through that, though. A sense of denial. Anyway, he's a director of the East India Company, just like his father. I'm so proud. I remember telling you how Phillip would constantly be going back and forth from India for the company. We have so many things from India here, it feels like we're in India ourselves. See that figurine over there?" Helen motioned towards a statue on one of the shelves. "The half-person, half-elephant one with the four arms? Phillip brought that back from India. I think that's obvious, though. You wouldn't find something like that here in the United Kingdom! Anyway, it's one of their important gods, Ganesha. He's the patron of arts and sciences. I think he's supposed to be the 'remover of all obstacles' or something like that. Phillip was very intrigued by Indian culture. He really did care about the people. I don't believe many of his coworkers did, though. There's missionaries over there now! Can you see that place as predominately Christian? I definitely cannot."

Claudia shook her head. "You said your husband knew the pastor well here, though? So I'm assuming he was a devout Christian himself?"

"He was very devout, but that's the odd part. He seemed devout to _every_ religion he came across. I think he wanted some sort of religious unity, but I don't know if that's possible. I wasn't going to stop him, though. I'm sure he partook in many of the holidays while he was over there, if he was even allowed! If anything, I'd bet the British wouldn't let him. I have no idea, though. I never asked."

It was almost three in the afternoon when Claudia excused herself as having to go to take care of Frances. Helen was very understanding of this whisked her to the door, thanking her again for her visit and promising to write her soon. "It truly was nice to see you! Do visit again soon!" Claudia agreed, realizing that Helen was desperate to have someone to talk to. Claudia didn't mind having a friend to turn to, either.

Claudia began to step in the carriage and turned towards her butler. "Thomas, we're actually making a quick stop before we head back to the manor. It's right in London, not too far from here, so I figure now is a better time than ever. We're going to go visit the Undertaker."


	3. Chapter 3

_(A/N: Thank you for reading and your kind comments! I'm sorry it took so long to update-school has been crazy. I hope once the work dies down, that I'll be able to post more at a time. So thank you for being patient, and please enjoy this chapter!)_

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**Chapter 3:**

**February 1882**

Candy stores were the most magical wonderlands, always filled to the brim with entrancing treats of all colors, shapes and sizes. Lemon drops, Lollipops, caramels, chocolates, taffies and more! It was all appealing to Ciel! He could eat it all-and would too-if his father would let him. Ciel was convinced his dad had the best job, as the head of Funtom Candy. The seven year old always got to come to candy stores with his father when he had business to attend, and the man would always let Ciel buy at least some candy to enjoy.

That day, Vincent Phantomhive had arrived at Tinsley's Treats. He stepped out of the carriage with ease, as Ciel clung tightly to him. This was partially out of security, but mainly for warmth. It was a brisk February morning, so it was rather cold. Of course, this was nothing new to Ciel. He was used to below freezing temperatures, but couldn't stay out too long in them. His poor health wouldn't allow that.

"Ah, Lord Phantomhive! It's an honor to see you again!" a booming voice said. A round and jolly old man stepped out from the store, arms outstreched. With his green coat and beard, Ciel couldn't help but think he looked like the Ghost of Christmas Present. Of course, both were associated with yummy treats.

"I'm glad I could come, Mr. Tinsley," Vincent responded, smiling and reached his arm out to shake hands. Mr. Tinsley ignored that and instead gave the man a big, welcoming hug. Ciel knew Mr. Tinsley had known his father for a long time, but he had no idea on the specifics. It all had to do with candy.

"Oh, and Ciel has grown so much since the last time I've seen him! Such a striking young man, isn't he? Looks a lot like his mum, but I see some of you, too!"

Vincent motioned for Ciel to step up and say his greetings. The little boy still latched onto his father, but smiled politely at the Tinsley man. "Thank you, sir."

Mr. Tinsley laughed and opened the door for the two Phantomhives. "Well, come in! I know you're cold, and we've got lots to talk about! Ciel, any candy you want is on the house!"

"What house?"

Vincent chuckled. "He means it's free. But, really, you don't have to do that!"

"But I do!" Mr. Tinsley said, closing the door behind him. Quieter now that they were inside, he added, "Half the candy in this store is already yours, anyway, Vincent. You've given me most of my profit, so I have to thank you somehow. Might as well let you have some of your own candy, for goodness sake."

Vincent began to say something else at this point, but by then Ciel was already running to the shelves of candy. They were organized by brand, and then by type of candy, and lastly color as well. It created a rainbow assortment of shelves, just making it all the more appealing to customers. Ciel ran his hand over each package, carefully observing each one to choose only the very best as he hummed a tune to himself. Was it one he'd heard in church? He didn't actually remember, but it was stuck in his head all day.

The small boy had looked through almost every aisle. He was in the very back corner of the store when his eyes spotted the largest lollipop he had ever seen! It was about the size of his head, with every shade of blue and green mixed in its swirls. It practically sat on a throne of it's own, placed on the top shelf apart from the others. This was it- Ciel's chosen prize of the day! Now, if he could only reach...

"Would you like some help with that?"

Ciel jumped. He timidly looked behind him and saw a tall man standing there, staring with his watery, pale eyes fixed right on him. He was bundled up in many coats and wore a hat, so Ciel couldn't see much, but he didn't necessarily look like a threat. "It's the lollipop, sir. The one with all the colors. It's too high up" Ciel said quietly. He didn't make eye contact.

"Oh, this one?" The man grabbed Ciel's chosen lollipop and handed it to the boy, bending down as he did to be eye-to-eye. "It's a Funtom Lollipop. Do you know who owns Funtom Candy?"

Ciel looked at the floor, not positive about how he felt about starting a conversation with a stranger. He still couldn't help but give a smile at the question, however. "Yes."

"Who?"

"My dad," Ciel answered, with a little more confidence. Nobody could be mad at him for that, could they?

The strange man smiled back, looking completely interested in such a thing. "Really? So you're a Phantomhive?"

Ciel nodded. This man was a big fan of their candy, apparently! How else would he know that? It was a little odd, but Ciel couldn't blame him one bit, of course. The candy _was_ delicious. "Yes, sir. My name's Ciel."

"How old are you, Ciel?"

"Seven," Ciel responded.

"When's your birthday. Is this your present?" the man asked.

Ciel paused. He fiddled with the lollipop wrapper. "December 14."

"So you're a Sagittarius?" the man muttered. He seemed completely lost in thought for a moment, and Ciel watched carefully. What on earth was a Sagittarius?

"I'm here with my dad. Do you want to meet him?" Ciel asked suddenly. If the man was a fan, he'd probably have more fun talking to his father than Ciel.

The cloaked man immediately stood up. "No, no, I don't want to bother him if he's doing business!"

"Oh."

"Well, take care, _Ciel_." Without saying another word, the mysterious man walked out of the store. Ciel watched, thinking about how coincidental it was that the man liked his father's products, but then shrugged it off. He tightened his grip on the lollipop and strolled over to the front of the store. The boy walked behind the desk with Mr. Tinsley and hovered by his father.

"You picked this one?" Vincent asked. Ciel held it up and nodded. "It's pretty big, do you think you'll be able to finish it all?"

"I can finish it!"

Mr. Tinsley laughed, belly shaking. "Boys can eat anything if it's sweet enough, I say! It's yours, Ciel."

"Thank you!" Ciel sat on his father's lap and started pulling off the wrapping paper. He licked it a few times, in total bliss, before mentioning, "Some man had to help me get it down, because it was so high up."

Mr. Tinsley chuckled. "Giving me business advice to make the shelves lower? Say, was he wearing a lot of coats?" Ciel nodded, not taking his mouth off the candy. "He was just asking about your company, Vincent. He seemed really interested in it. I think he wants to start his own candy business or something, and was wondering how you became so successful."

Vincent raised an eyebrow, eyes darting back and forth between his son and the candy shop owner. "Was he? Best of luck to him, I suppose." Vincent didn't sound like he wanted him to have success, though. Ciel figured it was because he didn't want competition.

All three said nothing for a moment. Ciel broke the silence by suddenly asking, "What's a...sagi...sagitare..."

"Sagittarius?" Vincent asked. Ciel nodded, lollipop in his mouth. "It's called a zodiac sign. Basically the zodiac concerns astrology and the month someone was born. It's supposed to explain people's personalities and future, so different birthdays have different ones. But it's just for fun, Ciel. Don't take it seriously." Vincent sighed. His facial expression showed anything but the one of a person having fun. Ciel noticed that his father held him just a little bit tighter.

* * *

**April 1852**

The bells attached to the front door of the funeral parlor rang out, so the Undertaker eagerly looked up towards the entrance. What pathetic human would stumble into his shop today? Would they be sad? Angry? Interrogative? Dead? The funeral director grinned. There were so many different options, but they all stemmed from the same unavoidable cause. Death.

Everyone dies.

People had tried to stop it in the past, and they would always try to stop it in the future. It seemed silly, trying to avoid such a fate. If anything, people should be attracted to it. Dying was the one thing everyone had in common, yet something humans knew the least about. Instead of something temporary such as gaining wealth and power, why didn't people focus more on understanding the one thing that they'd have to face for eternity? People were so clouded by the present situation.

The woman who walked in the door, however, was not someone he expected, though she fit the category of a relation to the afterlife. The pathetic thing, dressed as any elegant noble woman should, looking rather out of place in his scummy little shoppe of the dead. "Lady Phantomhive? Well, well, this adds a little bit of excitement to my day! What brings you into my layer of death, all by your lonesome, might I add?" He strummed his fingers against the desk, leaning down a bit like a cat ready to pounce.

The Lady looked around cautiously, as if something was actually going to pop out and attack her. Undertaker chuckled. He had no desire to do such a pointless thing, and anybody else in that room was dead. The nonliving obviously could not come after someone. Physically, at least. "Good day. I'm surprised that you recognize me, Mister Undertaker."

"I always remember my clients, dear," Undertaker said, clasping his bony hands together. "That's supposed to be good business etiquette, is it not?"

"Oh, that is true, yes," Lady Phantomhive said. She cleared her throat. "Actually, I'm here to see if um, you have any information." Oh, what a plot twist _this_ was.

The Undertaker tilted his head curiously, grinning as he did so. "So you're now sniffing about for the Queen, too? She has you on one of her emerald and diamond leashes?"

"N-not at all. I wouldn't dare get into any of that mess so directly," the Lady quickly responded. "I'm just helping how I can."

Undertaker shook his head and leaned forward, motioning around the shop. "Well, you're already getting into all that mess by just being here, my Lady." Undertaker stared straight at the woman, suddenly sounding serious. "Being that I don't want to get arrested myself, I can't release any information unless you work for the Yard or the Queen, so if you really want to know something, take your pick. Did you expect to prance in here and be handed simple answers to such complicated problems so easily, Countess?"

"I...of course not! It's all going to the Yard. Then I'm done with it. I knew you'd have some information, and the Yard may take a while to get to it themselves. Since I knew I could do something, I figured I would devote some of my time. You see, I personally knew this man-well, I knew his wife-and I want to help in every way I can. It just feels right."

"And what do you plan to learn that the Yard won't be able to?"

"I won't know that until you tell me something. This usually isn't where they come for information, anyway. This place is a little more...unknown to the Yard."

Undertaker raised an eyebrow, even though the Lady would not have been able to see this underneath his bangs. "Yet you'll still tell the _Yard_, but not your _husband_ who deals with the 'unknown' on a regular basis?" Lady Phantomhive hesitated, and Undertaker laughed. "Ah, I understand now! I do love a good bit of rebellion! It's what drives so many people to do so many crazy things. They don't even need other reasons half the time. Of course, if everyone followed the rules, life would be so _boring_, don't you think? And the majority of customers wouldn't be here, either, so I can't say I'm much for authority myself. But! I will help authority when I can, as any decent being should. Tell me what you need and I may give you it, being that I know you. If it's interesting enough, I may even just give you it for free."

The Lady cleared her throat and shifted her position. She eyed the Undertaker a moment, trying to figure him out-as if that was even a possibility-and sighed. "Is it true you directed the funeral of Phillip Melbourne?"

Undertaker nodded. He looked ready to drool with anticipation. "Indeed."

"What do you know about him?"

The funeral director hummed and stood up. He was about a head taller than the Lady. Undertaker brushed some of his long hair aside as he walked around the desk, to look right into the woman's eyes where she could see. She seemed slightly uncomfortable, but didn't back away. "Do you consider yourself a religious, my Lady?"

"My family is known to be strong Anglican Catholics, Mister Undertaker. We partake in all the sacraments and you'll always see us at Church on Sundays and Holy Days, as most standard noble families do. I don't see what that has to do with Melbourne."

Undertaker smirked. "But of course. Forgive me for asking."

The lady squinted her eyes. "Is something funny to you? That look on your face...what is it?"

"Everything is funny, my Lady."

"What does this have to do with Melbourne?" the woman asked, apprehensively.

Undertaker turned back towards the desk a moment, and rummaged through piles of papers. He pulled out a specific wad and handed it to Phantomhive. "This is all I have on him. His body was found stabbed in an old, abandoned parlor shop on Stallard Street. Twelve times, to be exact, mostly in the chest but a few times in the head too. He was just found rotting the middle of the room!" The man cackled and watched her read through the papers, which basically just expanded on what he had said.

"Didn't the Yard suspect that some group was behind all of this? Vindictus, I think they were called?" the Lady said, looking up.

"Good job, my Lady. Now you sound more professional! You're asking the right questions," Undertaker said. "Anyway, yes, the Yard suspects that, so I've heard, and I do believe it! But there's so many of these groups working both together and against each other, that knowing the name of one branch means little to nothing. That, my Lady, is where things start to get hazy." Undertaker smiled. "All I have on Phillip Melbourne specifically is right here in this stack of papers, and the Yard already has access to this so it makes no difference. They just aren't focusing on _him_ now."

"So me wanting to help is valid?" the Lady ask. Did she really need reassurance for being there?

"Depends on what you do. I will tell you that I believe his death was some sort of sacrifice made by the cult, but the police don't care about that, do they? They don't want to look into the reasons; they only care about the outermost facts. Such a shame, really, since motives can be the most interesting pieces." Undertaker pointed at the woman. "Such as yours right now. You said it 'just feels right' to help? Why?"

The Lady blinked a few times. "I...I don't really know. Normally murder is wrong, so does there have to be a specific reason?"

"Oh, I don't know. You tell me. Are you working for this Melbourne man's sake, or for your own? Because, my Lady, the dead aren't here to feel gratitude," the Undertaker purred. "You can always go to the site where he died on your own I'll even let you keep these papers for now. I will warn you, however, that it's not in an area where a pretty little thing such as yourself should wander alone.

"I'll also warn you now, unless if you want to become as involved as your husband, you had better back out now. If anyone from the criminal underworld knows about this-and I have a lot of work concerning them myself in my position, so I understand how they behave-you will be on their targeted list as much as any other investigator. There's no grey area to them! I find that rather amusing, because sometimes everything is a grey."

The Lady didn't say anything a moment, seeming as lost in thought as the Undertaker was in speech. She stared down at the informational papers, biting her lip. He watched, anticipating her next move. "Did you ask me about my religion because the cult is against it?" she finally asked.

"Maybe. Or maybe they think it's right, and are extreme activists of it and _only_ it! Or maybe they are just making sacrifices for their own god. Do you think they're just crazy and having fun murdering people? Oh, that would add some suspense, don't you think?!" Undertaker exclaimed. At her horrified expression, he laughed as he went back around to sit in his desk, pulling out a bowl of candy from one of the drawers. The man set it up on the counter for display. "Life isn't sweet, my Lady, so we must add sweetness ourselves. Would you like a piece? I think it's your husband's brand?"

The Lady shook her head. Undertaker shrugged. "More for myself then! To have the full experience, you can't eat it all in one bite! You have to enjoy each piece slowly. Treat this case the same. Don't jump to conclusions. Think about it first, or you'll be swallowed whole."

"...Are you sure this is all you know?" the Lady asked.

"Melbourne had his funeral with me because I had known him previously through your husband. If he knew your husband, he probably knew something about his eventual murderer's type. That's really all I do know. Besides, you can never be too sure of these things, my Lady," Undertaker shrugged.

Lady Phantomhive gave a sigh. "Perhaps you're right. I suppose I'll keep this then." She held up the papers. Undertaker smirked.

"So you _are_ going to investigate? I'm impressed."

"I _may_ check," the Lady corrected. She cleared her throat. "Well, I thank you for your time, Mister Undertaker. I'll return this as soon as I can." She left the funeral home rather abruptly, and Undertaker could only imagine what was going through that conflicted head of hers. She seemed to want to investigate, but something was holding her back. Yet if she'd come this far, she'd keep going. It was terribly naive of her to come all the way to his funeral house without much plan. Or perhaps it was desperation. A way to convince herself. The Undertaker played with the candy as he thought her motives over, rather interested.

He must have been, at least, because she had just gotten that information for free.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Primary Investigation**

**May 1852**

The Lady had commanded her butler, Thomas, to drive the family carriage to the abandoned building of the murder scene, feeling uneasy yet oddly determined. The case had been drilling into her head lately, nagging at the woman to do something, which was rather odd. It was not even her job, yet it had become a large part of her life. Whenever she needed an escape, she'd go back to that letter from the Queen. The concept intrigued her, and she had created hundreds of theories in her head ranging from plausible to absurd. Ever since he previous visit with the Undertaker, she had felt a strong pull to the case.

Her husband was off on his own work (and for once, concerning the East India Trading Company, not Watchdog material) so she found the opportunity perfect for sneaking out. It was a shame that any chance she had to go out was only during the day, being that she missed her time with Frances, but her outings were far and few in between. Anytime she heard her husband mention his Watchdog activities, she listened for any hints about it. They had caught a few people, but any clues on the entire organization? No more than before. And who was to say what they did know was anything close to being accurate? Besides, the Earl apparently worked on multiple cases at a time, so something as long term as this wasn't always priority.

So that morning, at approximately ten o'clock, Claudia was walking into the dreaded building, forcing her butler to be by her side, though he seemed as hesitant as she did. It was located on an older side of town, and there hadn't seemed to be any upkeep of the recent. Parts of the wall were crumbling apart right as she entered. Cobwebs were on every corner, and the floor creaked tremendously. A layer of dust covered all. She wasn't so sure that she wouldn't fall through the planks.

"I don't see the appeal in a place like this, honestly," Claudia admitted, glancing around the room. She realized she had no idea what she was even looking for.

"I suppose that's the point, Madam," the Thomas said. "There's still the upper levels. Perhaps something of interest will be there?"

Claudia's eyes darted to the staircase, judging whether or not it would cave in if they put weight on it. Then she unfortunately realized there was not much of a choice, if they really wanted to find something. "I suppose it is worth a try."

Cautiously, she and the man trudged upstairs, surviving, to find a hallway with various, dusty furniture pieces. They were piled on top of each other haphazardly, as if somebody had moved out and never bothered to have taken them. Her butler pushed them so she could reach the door, and what she found inside was exactly what she had been looking for.

"This is it, Thomas!"

"There's nothing there, my Lady, apart from the dried blood."

The room _was_ empty, apart from the blood. It remained in crusty specks all over the floor. On the southern wall, however, was some sort of large eye, drawn in what must have been chalk. Under it, was scribbled "Omnis immundus punientur". Yet these were both faded and it looked as though someone had tried to was them off. They were barely visible as it were.

"I'm no expert, but I had to learn some Latin as a child and I know that means something about punishing the unclean," Claudia muttered. "I have no idea what that eye is, though, and I don't like it. Although now we know for a fact it is under some sort of fanatic religious pretense." She stared at it a moment, taking it in.

"Indeed, we do. But where does this leave us?" Thomas asked.

"I suppose we need to think of a place that a fanatical group such as this would gravitate towards."

Thomas sighed. "I don't think it would be a good idea to walk into any such place unarmed as we are, honestly, Madam."

Claudia nodded. "Of course not, Thomas. Baby steps. We can't organize a plan before we know what we're in for...I think I know who to ask for such ideas, too. Now we need to hurry home, though. I can't dare be any later or...let's go."

* * *

Nothing felt right, though by social standards everything was fine. Claudia laid in the master bed, wiping sweat away from her forehead, tired and sore. She let out a shaky breath and glanced at her imperious spouse, asleep and guiltless beside her, arm slung nonchalantly over her waist. Knowing he'd be unresponsive for hours, she pushed it off and curled into her own position of choice: fetal position. Claudia stayed like that for what felt likes hours, mentally exhausted but unable to sleep. She didn't feel much of anything besides the pain in her lower body, mocking her for whatever she was worth.

The wind blowing against the window was loud. Each tick from the clock felt as if it was drilling a hole into her skull. Each creak the house naturally made sharpened her senses to the maximum. Any minor noise grasped her attention, keeping her mind active on what was unimportant. When the grandfather struck two, the lady realized there was no way sleep was a possibility. She slowly stretched her legs out from the covers and put her weight on them, reaching down to clasp her nightgown. After she slipped it back on, the Lady reached towards the nightstand, feeling for the candlestick and matches. Once lit, it created a dim light, well enough to see where she wanted to go. There was only one place she had in mind, at this time at night.

The library was always there for her; the place of solitude she could count on. The Earl had no interest in the area; his office had all he needed, so he would only go inside on the rare occasion if he needed information. Claudia had her own little desk in the back corner, usually empty beside unfinished letters and agendas. However, lately she'd had paperwork hidden in each drawer, given to her by that enigma of a funeral director and whatever information she had found on her own. Sure enough, not long after she had made her visit with the Undertaker, Claudia had snuck to the location of death on her own around midday. She studied the place with great interest, taking in every scratch and stain she could. Not much was gained, being that nobody appeared to be using the space at the time, but there were some interesting symbols left around the area. Most had been scrubbed down and were barely noticeable, yet with extra care she made most of the images out.

Most books were not helpful in the least however, and if she wanted to learn any more about the meanings of what she saw, she would have to go somewhere else. However, due to censorship, finding any literary work that would give explanations to anything would be hard to come across. Tapping her fingers impatiently against the desk, she thought of what her next move should be. Phillip Melbourne was her one, sole purpose. His death was what kept her sane.

Pierre had wandered in, panting from the noise the wind made and shaking. Claudia sat at her chair and picked the French Bulldog up, taking a moment to comfort him. "It's okay, honey. It will pass." Of course, he seemed rather unconvinced and continued to shake. She couldn't blame him.

The next few hours were spent continuously over more books, hoping to find some sort of breakthrough. It had become a sort of obsession, to learn anything and everything she could about this group. The woman hadn't even realized how much time had passed until a small voice spoke up, giving her quite a start.

"My Lady, you're up quite early."

Claudia spun around and saw Abigail, the maid, standing hesitantly behind her with a lamp and a duster. "It's not even five, yet, Madam."

The Lady took a sigh of relief and put the book she was skimming back down on the desk. She picked up Pierre from the floor, who whimpered slightly, but did not resist. She hugged him tightly. "I just couldn't sleep, Abigail. I'm not tired, that's all."

"Alright, then. I'll continue dusting. Breakfast should be ready at its usual time. If you need anything else, let me know." The maid walked to the other end of the library, obviously feeling uncomfortable cleaning right next to her mistress. Claudia let out a deep breath and carried Pierre with her out of the room.

The next afternoon, Frances sat on the parlor floor, playing with her doll as Pierre leaped around her, wagging what his bump of a tail. He pranced about, occasionally slobbering all over the girl's pale face in excitement. She just laughed and tried to playfully run away, but Pierre would always catch up and knock her back down. He grabbed the doll and made circles around Francis, and she was sit into a fit of giggles as she tried to catch it again. Claudia watched amused as she sat on the couch, knitting a blanket for the girl. They were both so cute together; and oh so innocent.

"Damned dog." The Earl entered the area. It was tea time and he had come to grab his share. Claudia looked away from her daughter and towards the direction of her husband.

"You really shouldn't curse in front of our child, darling," she said, feeling that unavoidable sick feeling come back in her stomach.

"And what gives you the right to tell your husband what to do? The nerve you have is shameful sometimes," the Earl muttered. Arguing wasn't his main priority that afternoon however. He looked at the tray that Abigail had fixed of snacks and picked some out, choosing the biggest and the best.

Claudia didn't apologize for what she had said, but she didn't bother to argue it. "Do you have any major plans this week?"

The Earl glanced at his wife and scoffed. "I'll be working at my usual times, of course." He must have thought of her as downright ignorant.

"Of course."

"Do you recall that ghastly funeral director with the scar?"

Claudia's heart skipped a beat. "I'm sorry?"

"No? God, it wasn't all that long ago. Whatever the case, Wednesday night he is going to be over for supper, as well as a few other acquaintances you've never met. So be sure to impress them."

"I...certainly."

Frances smiled at her father. "Daddy, look!" She had grabbed the doll from Pierre, who was desperately attempting to retrieve it again.

"Get off that floor, Frances, and away from that dirty mutt," the Earl snapped, as he began to exit the room. "Just like your mother, aren't you?"

Frances initially seemed slightly downhearted in her father's lack of interest, but shrugged it off and continued to play with Pierre, albeit a little less intensely. Claudia quietly continued her knitting.

* * *

"You've been working hard, my Lady. I can't say I'm not pleasantly surprised, though your motives still puzzle me. I'm sorry to say I have nothing specific to help you with, except perhaps any unused church or back alley. That's rather cliche, is it not?"

It was Tuesday morning as Claudia stood back in the funeral parlor, dressed in her finest navy morning dress. She gave a small smile at the attentive funeral director, and found herself wondering how he got that scar on his face. "You aren't alone, then, Mister Undertaker," Claudia admitted. She clutched the paperwork he had given her. He had said she could keep it as long as she needed. "Whatever the cause, I came back because I have an odd question."

Undertaker tilted his head, resting it on his hand at the desk. "Oh, the odder the better. But nothing is _really_ that odd, is it? Or perhaps everything is. Who am I to say what is and isn't normal?"

"No, this is odd, so please do not take offense in my coming to you for guidance. The point is, I have been trying my best to learn more about the case, and have reached a stand still. I believe you have connections to all sorts of people, do you not?" Claudia asked.

"I know my fair share of personalities."

Claudia cleared her throat. "Mister Undertaker, would you know anybody who specializes in symbols or spirituality?"

Undertaker laughed. He pulled out his bowl of candies, pushing it towards the edge to offer Claudia some. "Why, isn't that called a 'priest'? You did say you are a strong Anglo Catholic, I do recall?" He bobbed his head and picked out a piece of chocolate. The director plied off the wrapping and nibbled on the end. "You're welcome to any, of course."

Claudia shook her head. "No, thank you." She sighed. "Aren't you funny? You know I was meaning something a little more…"

"Taboo?" The Undertaker grinned. "Oh yes, I know quite a few people, but from your description, I think you should meet with a man named Shaurya Chandrasekhar. Ah, that's right! He's very good in what he does, Madam. He owns a healing shop not too far from here, actually. It's where all the people your class avoid buy last-resort chances for hope in their hopeless lives. Oh, I do think he'll be quite helpful."

"Do you have his address?" Claudia asked.

"You're so eager! You do remember this is all over a death, yes?"

"You make me sound morbid! Isn't it natural to want to know?"

"Humans are morbid, I suppose."

Claudia blinked a few times, wanting to say something in return, but she couldn't think of what. He watched her confusion, amused. Undertaker pulled out some scratch paper and scribbled something down. "I'll give you his address, Madam. And do report back to me! I would be delighted to know your opinion on whatever he has to offer. I find his line of work very interesting, you see." He handed her the address, and Claudia gratefully took it. "I also look forward to dinner tomorrow." The funeral director cackled. Claudia felt a wave of nervousness fall back over her.

"You had better not speak a word of this," she said quietly.

Undertaker nodded. "I would never, my Lady. That would take away the fun of it, after all."

"I _will_ pretend to not have seen you since the last time I came in here with my husband."

"Plays are so entertaining, Lady Phantomhive! I do appreciate a good actor or actress. This shall be fun! It will be like a performance at the Shakespeare Globe," the Undertaker said. Claudia felt a bit of relief, but thoughts of day never fully left her consciousness.

* * *

After her delightful visit to the master of the dead, Claudia went straight to see the master of the spirits. One would not have necessarily known a healing shop was where the Undertaker had said, apart from the rusty sign above the door where the simple words "Healing Shoppe "were carved out. Most of the people she saw in the area shot her glares as she exited her carriage, and she easily understood why. She may have been receiving dirty looks, but the people in the area were just plain dirty in general. Most seemed to be wearing nothing better than rags, and while Claudia felt pity, she couldn't help but feel glad that she had a good deal of refinement. However, he reminded herself that if her presumptuous spouse could force himself to go on these missions, she could too.

"My, my, what's a pretty young thing such as yourself doing all the way out here?" An old man, looking as if he was decaying alive, hobbled up to Claudia. He reached out, clasping her grotty hand around her wrist, causing her to flinch. "I don't think you should be here alone, missy." He cackled, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth and the horrible stench of rancid breath. Claudia stumbled backwards, trying to ply his fingers off, when the healing shop's door swung open. A tale, slender man of about nineteen or twenty stepped out, glaring at the old man.

"Get away you piece of rubbish, or I'll personally summon the spirits here myself to haunt you the rest of your limited days!" the man spat at the doorway. The old man recoiled, seeming horrified, and as quickly as he could, bustled away towards another alleyway. Claudia looked up at the new person in shock.

"You'd really try to summon something?" she asked, feeling uneasy.

The boy laughed, swinging the door wide for the guest to enter. "Obviously not! That was a load of lies, yet the man believes every word of it. He really believes I work for the Christian devil. Then again, he's somewhat of a loon, anyway. Peter is his name. He wanders about this street all the time. I'm not sure if he actually has a home or not."

Claudia stepped in the shop, with slight, hidden disgust. "I suppose I could have figured he was a loon…" She observed the shop, filled to the brim with various shelves of things that she could not even name. It contained dried up animal parts, herbs, plants, rocks, and beads. There were candles and statues and textbooks and paintings. It did appear as a place of blasphemy; not even she could deny that. "Um, sir, would you be Mister Chandrasekhar?"

The boy smiled and shook his head. "No, ma'am. Well, yes I am, but not the one you want, I take it. I go by Pranav. The man you seek would be my grandfather. I assume you came to talk to him?" Claudia nodded. "I figured as much. Peter might be crazy, but he's right about one thing: A lady like you generally doesn't come to just shop."

Claudia couldn't deny it. "You are correct. I just have some questions for him, if he doesn't mind such a spontaneous thing."

Pranav was already walking towards the back stairs. "No worries, ma'am! I'll fetch him! Just wait here, please!"

Pranav disappeared and Claudia waited in the lobby. She slowly walked to the back desk, looking at each item for sale. She couldn't decide if she felt intrigued or repelled. The woman sat herself at a highly decorated chair in front of the desk, fingers strung together in her lap. It didn't take too long, however, before a much older, dark skinned man appeared from the staircase, with a balding head of only a few white hairs. He gave a wrinkly smile and sat at his desk, eyeing Claudia.

"You must be Mr. Chandrasekhar?" she asked, holding out her hand. He shook it and smiled warmly at the woman.

"I am," the man said. "And what would your name be, Madam?"

Claudia opened her mouth to instinctively say her name, but stopped herself. Would this man know who Phantomhive was? She chose the first surname that popped into her head. "Claudia...Radford, sir. I've heard you're an expert in the spiritual realm, and came to seek for some answers."

"Claudia? That would be a Biblical name, with Latin roots, meaning 'lame'," the man said. He reflected on this a moment, before saying, "Go on."

"Oh, why, yes. It does," Claudia muttered. She shifted her position. "So, erm, do you know about various religions, or do you have a preference to one? You see, what I come for is not very orthodox, to say in the least."

"They are all one, ma'am, with certain truths in each! Many beliefs branch from others, so if you know one, then you know them all."

Claudia frowned. She just hoped he wasn't lying. "So if I showed you a sketch of something, do you believe that you could tell me what it is?" She pulled out a some of her notes, pointing at the eye that she had seen faded on the wall. The old man gave a knowing smile.

"Of course I know. Why does your soul yearn to know?" he questioned. Claudia smelled something peculiar, and noticed Pranav in the corner discreetly kindling the incense burner.

"I saw it somewhere," she answered vaguely. The man did not question her.

"It is known as 'The Eye of Horus', originating in ancient Egypt. Some call it the 'Eye of Ra'. Generally it symbolizes great power and protection! However, according to some myths, it can also be a symbol s_acrifice_, healing, restoration, and protection. However, the concept of another eye has been converted into many religions. Christianity, even, takes aspects from it. You have your two physical eyes-" The old man pointed towards his own. "-and then the eye that allows you to see into the great beyond. The link to the spiritual world! A mystic's paradise!

"This is how I see it," Shaurya continued, looking earnestly into the young woman's eyes. He grabbed her hand, suddenly in completely in his preaching zone. She blinked a few times but his gaze remained steady, making her feel rather uncomfortable. "All religions hold a sort of truth to them. While the practices and words may change over time and place, the main concept of most beliefs is the same. There is a higher power of some sort, and we are supposed to use all in _our_ power to do what is best for mankind. Through this, we can have peace. Some call that peace nirvana, others call it unification with Brahman, and you call it heaven. Despite hardships, lack of communication, and differences in culture, a sense of spirituality has remained in humans. What us mystics believe, Claudia, is that there is a force uniting us all, so religions do not clash, but simply complete one another."

"Is this always a good thing?" Claudia asked, mind reverting towards the murder scene. She slowly retracted her hand from the desk.

"Anything can be used for bad, Claudia. It is our purpose on this earth is to use what we are given rightly."

"Do you have anything in the shop pertaining to this 'Eye of Horus'?" Claudia asked, glancing around tentatively.

Shaurya said, "Yes. Vases and jewelry and the like. Unless if you want more information. I've got some manuscripts on it too, though those aren't displayed."

"The latter, please."

Shaurya stood up and hobbled towards a back room. Within a minute, he came back carrying an old book, brushing off dust as he did so. He placed it on the table. "This book if filled with information on numbers in theology. The Eye of Horus's design is purely mathematical, and entire chapter is dedicated to it."

Claudia eagerly payed for the book. It was overpriced, but she barely noticed. During the carriage ride home, the woman opened the work to the Eye of Horus chapter, which was towards the beginning.

_The Eye of Horus is divided into six parts, representing the six shattered pieces of the eye as it was destroyed by Set. The fraction of each part is as followed:_

Each shape that made the eye was drawn out, with the corresponding meaning beside it.

_1/2: Smell_

_1/4: Sight_

_1/8: Thought_

_1/16: Hearing_

_1/32: Taste_

_1/64: Touch_

Claudia took a moment to do the math. "This...it doesn't add up. That's only 63/64," she muttered. By then, the carriage had arrived back at the Phantomhive manor, and Thomas was opening the door for her.

"I'm sure it explains that _somewhere_ in that giant book," Thomas answered. He cleared his throat. "But you had better not worry about that all night. Do you remember what the Earl said? Tomorrow you're having company. You had best prepare for that."


	5. Chapter 5

_(A/N: Hello! Firstly, I'm SO sorry for the terribly late addition! I've had most of it typed up, but with classes and work becoming unexpectedly stressful, I didn't have much of a chance to finish it up. But thankfully, I finally have been able to get back to it. So thank you for your patience! Also, I'd love to thank you for your kind reviews! They really are motivating. (A few have asked about Tanaka, so I'll answer here that yes, I do have plans for him soon!) Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy!)_

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**Chapter Five: Death's Dinner**

"Hurry up; we can't afford to run behind! There's too much to do!"

The Earl Phantomhive stormed through the kitchen that Wednesday evening, only minutes before the honored guests were supposed to be arriving. He stopped his pace where Abigail was standing by an oven to put his arm around her lower back. She made no eye contact. "Especially you, doll, or you'll have to apologize to me personally." She nodded, rather flustered, and picked up her cooking speed as much as she possibly could. The Earl watched, amused by this reaction, and smugly continued on his way.

Claudia, meanwhile, was upstairs in the bedroom, adjusting her emerald evening dress. It was quite a beautiful dress-not even she could deny this- and most women would be jealous. It had a tight bodice but an extremely large metal hoop skirt, emphasizing the classic hourglass shape of any proper woman. The frills on the top, hanging off the shoulders, were embellished with a motif of jewels and lace that perfectly complemented the green silk. She had her blonde hair in a bun, and her dark eyes scanned the dresser for whatever jewelry would match best. She rested her fingers on a diamond necklace, given to her by her mother years ago, and debated the importance of the night. She never wore it, given its significance to her, but tonight it seemed like the best option. She carefully put it on.

"Claudia! Get the hell down here!"

The Lady groaned. "I'm coming, darling!" She said "darling" somewhat sarcastically, but nevertheless, mostly out of obligation. Taking one last look in the mirror, the woman went over to the bed where Frances sat watching and picked her daughter up, careful not to ruin the child's taffeta dress for the evening. Of course Frances would not be there the majority of the time, but the Earl _had_ to show her off before supper.

"I don't wanna, Mummy," Frances whined as she was taken out of the bedroom.

"Don't complain, honey, it won't be too long. Father just wants you to meet some friends." Claudia couldn't say much, though, being that she didn't particularly want to go down there, either. It would require putting on one big act for the evening. Then again, perhaps that wasn't much of a change. Her life was one big play, after all! Do this and do that, just because it was expected. Just like that funeral director had said, that night as going to be Shakespearean.

Ah yes, the Undertaker…

Feeling the knot in her stomach grow even bigger, Claudia took a deep breath and made her way beside her husband, who looked even more proud and content than usual. Thomas chauffeured each esteemed guest into the manor, each dressed in their finest apparel as well. The Earl could be oh-so-charming, greeting each client with a warm grin and firm handshake, even though he knew them all well. It wasn't that there were many guests-only four to be exact-but each carried the pressure that ten would. The men came by themselves-obviously it was for work-related material-and Claudia realized the only reason she had to be there was simply as a trophy. That prized-possession that could be shown off. Frances was no different. The Earl acted like the world's best father right then, and poor Frances seemed to think it was authentic. She loved to curtsy to each man, then spin to show off her pretty robes. They each gave a chuckle of fax-amusement, patting her on the head or something of the sort.

Well, perhaps all of them but Undertaker. He seemed authentically amused. This was no surprise. Everything amused him, after all, as he had made clear earlier. This notion was amusing to Claudia. When he first walked through that door, however, dressed as grimly as ever, she felt something odd come across her. Yet that man kept his promise from the day before, and did not speak a word of any past encounters besides what the Earl knew. In fact, he didn't even give Claudia a single knowing glance. She even tried herself to pass him a look, and yet his eyes (or so she presumed, because his bangs covered them for the most part) moved right past hers. Only when the Earl took Claudia's arm and lead her to the Undertaker did he take interest.

"I'm sure you remember my wife Claudia?" the Earl said. Claudia felt slightly lightheaded.

"But of course! It's a pleasure to see you again, Madam," Undertaker said, politely taking her hand and giving a slight bow of the head.

Claudia stiffened. "Why...yes, it is."

"I think she finds your appearance offsetting. I know the rest of us do," a deep voice barked.

"That's not true," Claudia automatically said, with a bit too much seriousness in response to such a playful comment. The Earl tensed up, while the Undertaker cackled. The man with the booming voice may have noticed, but didn't act as if he did.

"You must be Lady Phantomhive. It's an honor to meet you, Madam," this other man said, giving a little bow as he shook her hand too. "My name is Zachary Carlyle."

"The honor is mine," Claudia spoke. She wondered what his enigmatic position was to bring him here.

The other guests were named Jacob Culling, and Paul Pullum. Each had their "regular society front", usually without a real career to speak of, and instead just usually recycling family money to fund charities and social events. However, Claudia knew they each had their secret lifestyle as well.

The Earl ushered his guests to the dining room, where Frances was immediately rushed upstairs by one of the servants (she couldn't dare ruin the evening's peace). The Earl sat on one end of the table, while Claudia was seated on the other somewhat awkwardly. Abigail as well as a few of the other servants came through the adjacent kitchen door bringing in various dishes of the first course meal, placing them systematically on the table for the uppermost convenience and aesthetics. Only the finest dinnerware was used for the meal, with the table set up as any proper man should have it. Salad fork. Dinner knife. Bread and butter plate. Tea spoon. White wine glass. If it existed, it appeared to be in that decadent display. Claudia could appreciate such things, yet she had to admit for this crowd, it seemed unnecessary. Did Undertaker even know the difference between a salad fork and the one for the main course? She'd only seen him eat candy. Her husband's candy.

The dinner talk was mundane, and most of it seemed rather superficial. Zachary Carlyle had two grown children. Jacob Culling, a short redheaded man with a mustache, preferred coffee over tea. Paul Pullum was middle aged and went for horse rides as often as he could. He was also happily engaged after his first wife had died a year ago due to pneumonia (Was she supposed to show sympathy for the first wife, or be cheery for the second? Claudia didn't know which stance to take). The Undertaker appeared to have a knack for insight. It wasn't that he appeared to be so empathetic, per say, when the men told their gallant tales of hunting and sporting, yet he was fully engrossed and latched on to every word they said. He never offered any exciting tales of his own, though. Perhaps they weren't dinner appropriate.

"And how did you enjoy it, Madam?"

Claudia shook herself out of her thoughts. "Oh, pardon me, Mister Pullum, what did I enjoy?"

The Earl spoke up for Pullum, with a bit of impatience that Claudia felt she only picked up. "What did you think of London Assurance, Claudia?"

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry! It was a fine play," Claudia quickly said, turning to Pullum. "And I do love the Royal Theatre. It's very grandiose. Honestly, half the fun is the experience of theatre itself."

"Oh, I have to disagree, Madam. I do love a good acting performance." Undertaker began cackling from the other side of the table. Carlyle rolled his eyes and took a sip of his wine. Claudia almost choked on her food.

After the dessert, the men got up from their seats and headed to the den in order to get down to the real purpose of the gathering. Of course, this was when Claudia was dismissed, without being outright told. The trophy had been shown off sufficiently, so the guests could move on. Claudia never went to the den much, but she knew how it would go. They'd all sit around and play pool, drinking their tea and casually discuss underground international affairs. Opium trade? Human trafficking? Illicit scientific research? Kidnappings? Oh, the list of scandals never ended it seemed. The men walked downstairs towards the room and Claudia couldn't help but linger by the stairs a moment before she went up. Undertaker walked alongside Paul Pullum, that stodgy dark-haired man. Were they talking about death? That's all she had really discussed with the man.

Pierre had previously been locked upstairs, but the little dog was finally let out by Abigail and came excitedly rushing down to his master. Claudia smiled and picked the dog up, smiling a little, and started pacing down the corridors. Oh, what a dreadful evening she had in store. Frances would go to sleep soon, so it would just be her and the dog for hours on end. She'd mindless sew or crochet something until midnight, if not later, and then what? Repeat the whole thing the next day? No, she would not stand for that.

Undertaker was in her house, along with other men who had insight and knowledge into a whole entirely different world. None could be too willing to share this insight, and of course she wouldn't dare ask with her husband there as well, but when the information was so close she felt some sort of necessity to obtain what she could. They would be where they always congregated, and she found herself walking towards that area-down those empty, gloomy halls-almost instinctively. Pierre rested comfortable in her arms.

After going down a level, the woman hovered outside the door a moment, listening. She noticed that everything was completely quiet. They weren't inside. Well, they had been in there previously. Wondering whether or not they left behind any notes offering insight into their world, they walked inside the den and took a look around.

The room was fairly large, not as if that were a surprise. Like every other room, there were opulences consisting of the prettiest paintings, the most elegant curtains, the finest trinkets and knickknacks alike. Large cabinetry and shelves bordered most walls, yet the giant pool table in the center of the room was the key attraction. Those snakes could sit around that thing forever, it seemed. Chairs had indeed been pulled up, with still-warm cups of tea and coffee set about. Some parchments were on one of the chairs, and Claudia reached down investigate.

It seemed to be some sort of biography, written out in an elaborate cursive.

_Sum Chanming_

_Date of Birth: October 18, 1828_

_Place of Birth: Kowloon, Hong Kong, China_

_Arrival in England: May 27, 1850_

_Chanming's body was found June 22, 1852 with gash in abdomen for various organs to be extracted. Absent includes liver, kidney, parts of…_

_The list went on and Claudia felt somewhat repelled although intrigued. She wanted to go out a investigate herself, and yet..._

Pierre started wiggling, and Claudia heard footsteps coming towards the room.

How could she battle this sort of cause when she couldn't even face her husband?

Feeling a rush of panic, Claudia's eyes darted around the room for a space to hide. Grabbing Pierre again, she ran to a cabinet tall enough for her to stand in, and closed it tightly, hugging Pierre. She stood completely still, hoping the old packages and extra pool sticks wouldn't decide to fall. The door to the parlor opened, and the lady held her breath.

There was aimless chatter a moment, the hit of a pool stick hitting a ball, and it rolling across the table.

"Damn it, Culling, you got one. And you put me in bit of a rut," a brash voice said. It had to be the older man, Paul Pullum.

"With your skill, I'm not convinced," Culling answered. There was some shuffling and sound of glass hitting the table, and then another plunk as presumably Pullum took his turn.

"This isn't the only boy to have been murdered like this." This time Carlyle spoke. He ignored the two players and got down to strict business. Claudia heard the papers shuffle slightly. "It's always at the port cities, especially Liverpool."

"It's for those damned Chinese," the Earl spoke. "They're selling body parts on the black market!"

"But why would they murder their own people for that? Here, I mean? It seems a bit out of the way, not to mention risky," Culling pointed out. There was a moment of silence. Claudia heard another plunk of a ball being hit. "Now that is what I call a perfect shot!" He continued with the criminal talk. "Personally, I'd suspect both sides are in on this. It a highly profitable line of work, albeit illegal. Not to mention that while in China Opium and the like are banned. You can make a profit here, but the regulations are few, so to make a lot of money at once, one needs other things to vendor."

"Like organs!" the Earl scoffed. "How barbaric. It's like that other group. Oh, what's their name?"

"Vindictus?" the Undertaker cackled. Claudia felt her heart skip a beat, from his voice and the name of the cult. "They slashed bodies, but they stole nothing from them. Each of the corpses had every organ they needed. They just weren't functioning." He sounded rather amused by the notion. "Have you even done anything concerning them, Earl?"

"Recently? No, they haven't been a priority. I caught some men in one of their sects, and I think that scared them off, yet the entire organization? Why, that would be impossible for now. The Queen even knows that."

"I'm sure she does!"

"I found one of their hideouts on Thirty-fourth Gosseford Road. It's on the East End. Odd place to congregate, but it fits those bastards. They have no normal motivations of any kind. I've practically given up with them for now."

"Phantomhive, I need a smaller stick for the next move!" Pullum spoke. She heard him put down the one he was using.

"They're some more in the cabinet over there."

Claudia heard footsteps walking towards where she was hidden, and with horror realized that all around her were pool sticks of every shape in size. Pierre started to moan and she quickly put a hand over his mouth, not that it would make much of a difference now. What would she say? There was no explanation for this!

She held her breath. The footsteps had stop and she felt his hand on the handle, just starting to open the door. The woman held Pierre tightly, waiting for all hell to break loose, when the Undertaker spoke up.

"I think I found the one you'd need right over here, Sir!" He laughed and Claudia heard some other cabinets opening and closing.

"Ask before you go through my stuff like that, you dirty little-"

"Now, now, my Lord. Let's not call names here. We're all on the same side!" Undertaker laughed. "Here's your stick."

Paul Pullum seemed satisfied by whatever Undertaker had thankfully scavenged, for he thanked him and walked away from the cabinet. Claudia felt herself shaking, yet her heart rate started to go down once she realized that she was safe. Had Undertaker done that on purpose?

The men talked this and that, and eventually Claudia lost all interest and could only think about the moment she'd get out of that damned cabinet. They were talking about Burma, Hong Kong, and Russia. Drug trades, human trafficking, and thieves. If she had been out of the room perhaps it would have been more interesting. Pierre was becoming anxious as well, and her biggest fear was that he'd bark and get them all in trouble. Her legs hurt. Her back hurt. Her head began to hurt. There was no space to move and she feared she'd be stuck in there all night.

The Earl finally mentioned retreating, to Claudia's extreme joy. "I have some documents on that case in my office. "I can give that to you, Zachary. We can go up now; it's getting rather late, anyway. I'll get Abigail to clean up in here…"

"Oh no, my Lord. I'll reset the table. You men go ahead. I owe you that for dinner!" Undertaker piped.

The Earl said nothing a moment, but couldn't seem to find a reason to argue it. "If it makes you feel better...you know where everything is, anyway, with your compulsive need to look into it all!" The room became quiet as the other four men left, leaving Undertaker and Claudia hidden away in her spot. She tensed as she heard him come straight to the cabinet and open it wide, brushing his bangs away and revealing those odd, yellowish eyes shining right at her. She felt as if he was going to faint.

"My, my, Lady Phantomhive. When you had spoken about investigating for your husband's missions, I didn't know you'd go so far as to hide in a closet for almost two hours! I must say, I'm impressed. All dressed up for being locked up. What a pretty necklace..." Like always the Undertaker laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more. Claudia stood frozen. Pierre immediately jumped down from her arms and ran across the room, enjoying his freedom.

"What a cute little one, Madam! I'm sure he was miserable. You kept him under control though. It's nice to know at least one watchdog knows his place."

"He's not much of a watchdog, really," Claudia said.

"Which one? Your husband or the dog?" Undertaker asked with a smile. Claudia smiled weakly back, but didn't answer. She stepped out onto the floor. Awkwardly, she glanced up at the Undertaker. "Anyway, thank you, for stopping him from opening the cabinet."

"Of course. We agreed that we were in a play, remember? It would have ruined our little act had you been found!" The Undertaker grinned. "This constitutes as backstage, I reckon." He put his finger on his chin, thoughtfully, and then shrugged it off. He started to hum as he went about the room, cleaning up whatever the other noble villains, as some called them, had left behind. He seemed rather pleased with himself.

"So you won't tell?"

"That would not be a very uplifting ending to the show, would it? I prefer to keep things _lively_." The funeral director laughed at his own joke.

"How'd you know I was in there?" Claudia stammered. She watched as Undertaker put the sticks in that dreaded closet and take up the trash.

The Undertaker shrugged. "I read my script beforehand."

"No, I mean really."

"Would you prefer me to say that I saw you walk in the room?"

Claudia studied the man a moment, trying to figure out if he was lying or not. She couldn't tell, and just had to settle with the fact that she'd never know what gave it away. "As long as the others don't know, I suppose I can live with that." She gave a half-hearted smile. "You could say my role was somewhat improvised, though, so I don't see how that 'script' helped you much."

Undertaker snickered. "That was a good one, my Lady! By the way, did you find it worth it? Being in there for that amount of time?" He looked truly interested.

"There were some interesting topics, although not many connected. I'm not honestly sure."

"Everything connects, Madam. Your job is to see how. Are you going to go by the location your husband mentioned? Thirty-four Gosseford Road? That's where your beloved cult loved to congregate."

"I don't know if I'd call them 'beloved'."

"Forgive me. You spend so much of your time dwelling over them, I jut assumed."

Claudia sighed. "I'll probably go see with Thomas sometime. Although I don't know that area well."

Undertaker smirked. He had a certain twinkle in his eyes. "Do you need a guide?"

"A guide? Like you, you mean?" She eyed him. "Why would you want to come, Mister Undertaker?"

"It interests me, too, Madam. It may not be my direct job, but these things affect everything I do! I understand if you decline, of course. But I do request you come visit me afterwards to tell me your findings. I do enjoy your visits," the Undertaker replied.

"I guess you could come. Your parlor is on the way...you won't have to be running it?"

"I don't run a twenty-four hour shop, my Lady. Dead people stay dead. I can fix my hours, need be."

Claudia nodded. "Alright, then. Yes, my husband will be gone on Friday for the majority of the day. I can come by that morning, and we can go then?"

"I look forward to it!" Undertaker exclaimed. He truly did seem excited. He then glanced down to the used cups he was balancing in his arms. "Now, where should I put these?"

Claudia took them from the man."I'll dispose of them. Now hurry up. You've got the opposite problem as me. They'll notice you're _not_ there and come looking."

Undertaker thanked her and began to exit the room. He stopped momentarily at the doorway "I'll tell them I got distracted by one of these gruesome paintings you have hanging all over the manor. It'll probably be true! They are so intriguing."

"It's funny, because I honestly don't know who half of those people in them are."

"I think I recognize some from passing through my shop!"


End file.
